


For New Times' Sake

by galacticproportions



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Porn with Feelings, Safer Sex, Spy Stuff, Threesome - F/M/M, although only one of them appears here, that's just true, the Calrissian sisters are awesome and there are four of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticproportions/pseuds/galacticproportions
Summary: Finn and Poe have a proposition to make to Lando Calrissian's oldest daughter, who runs an intelligence network friendly to the Resistance, and she has a proposition for them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Imani Calrissian got a mention in my previous story, "Listening," and upon reflection she seemed to deserve more then a mention, so here she is, and here they all are. 
> 
> I meant this to be a bit more lighthearted than it is, but I don't seem to have it in me, so: considerate but faintly glum porn is what you all get.

“Holy shit,” Finn says out loud as they enter the atmosphere, and Poe cackles. “Told you.”

Cloud City is breathtaking. The clouds in question are lit pink from beneath, cool grey on top, mounded and drawn out into towers and citadels between the equally graceful human-built structures. Everywhere Finn looks, there's something to delight him: hanging gardens, slender walkways, stately dirigibles and tiny, zippy air-speeders adapted for the stratosphere. Poe recites their cover identities and putative business and fake registration, and the comm crackles back, “Permission granted.”

Poe docks them on the underbelly of a mid-sized building shaped like two sweet rolls stuck together, and repeats the cover names to the two security guards, a human and a Shozer, that meet them as they disembark. They walk through pristine hallways and then through a series that seem more utilitarian, showing scrapes and mends.

As usual, Finn notes things like angles and exits, places where they could shelter under fire—not very many in these curving, spiraling hallways, like the shell Rey brought him when she first came back. The part of his mind that keeps him alive wants to be on edge. The part that makes him enjoy being alive just wants to drink it in: the clothes and jewelry on the few people they pass, the shifting draperies in the part of the structure that's more for display, the maintenance nanodroids that run along and between the plates of the less-adorned walls. He'd like to take Poe's hand and point things out to him, but that doesn't fit with who they're supposed to be.

The chamber where their escort leaves them is clearly designed to impress, and just as clearly they've entered it through a back door that becomes very hard to see when it closes behind them. The light in it is soft, pink-tinted from the lowering sun beyond it the big curved window, and setting aglow the rich brown skin of the woman who stands to meet them. She rises and keeps rising—she's a full head taller than Finn—and the sweep of her lips, the weight of her eyelids, the thick ropes of her hair, are all grave and majestic.

And then she breaks into a grin and holds her arms open. Poe laughs and steps into them, and she cradles him and presses her cheek to his hair. “You terrible man,” she says, with a faint accent in her Basic that Finn doesn't recognize. “You got old!”

“You didn't, Imani,” Poe says, disengaging a little and craning his neck to kiss her cheek.

“I did, I did. We've all gotten old. Speaking of which, is it really me you wanted to see, or is it the old man?”

“Finn and I wanted to see you. This is Finn. Finn, Imani Calrissian.” Finn has never in his life been even tempted to kiss someone's hand in greeting, but it seems like the natural thing to do now. Her skin is soft and smells spicy-sweet, and her gaze under those heavy eyelids is best described as measuring—in what capacity, he doesn't know. “But we have a message for your father, too, from the General. Eyes-only.”

“Hmph,” Imani says. “They don't trust me, I suppose.”

“We don't know what's in it either. What are those things with cushions, chairs?”

Imani's laugh rolls out of her. “Please sit down, terrible Poe Dameron and charming Finn. Something to drink while we talk business? I have tea here, and wine, or I can call someone.”

Finn catches Poe's eye and handsigns S _afe?,_ meaning _Is this a safe person to drink liquor with?_

 _All well,_ Poe signs back, and says aloud, “Wine, if you can spare it.”

“Being a smuggler's daughter has some advantages. Actually, mostly advantages.” She draws a bottle and glasses out of a cupboard set into a table, and pours for them all. “To your endeavors.”

“You don't even know what they are yet,” Poe points out.

“But I know they're good,” Imani counters. “How could they not be, if they're yours, you with your pure heart?”

“Imani--”

“Tell me your story,” she says, settling back.

Imani and her three sisters run an intelligence network for this sector, with the double cover of their father's official and his unofficial business. Mostly they sell information, but to the Resistance they donate it—“For old times' sake,” Imani affirms, sipping. Finn and Poe are here to request that they purvey certain false information to the First Order as well.

“And is this also for old times' sake?”

“We presume they'll pay you. They do pay you?”

“Oh, yes, they pay, though where they get the money I shudder to think. We've tried to keep selling them innocuous intel long enough to trace it—that was Tante Leia's most recent request, by the way—but dealing with them is dangerous, as of course you know, and the old times are over, or we wouldn't be sitting here talking this way. I know that Tante Leia knows this, and I know that you came here prepared to talk terms. I also know that you could have done that alone. Why is your friend here? Finn, why are you here? And Poe, stop that with the finger nonsense, I don't know what you're saying but I can tell that you're saying it, which really reduces its efficacy.” She articulates the last word like she's tracing a holy relic, a sharp-edged sacrificial knife.

“He was saying I can tell you the truth,” Finn says, “which is that we work together, when we can.”

“And what work are you going to do today, besides looking very handsome and distinguished and drinking my wine?”

“Well,” Finn says as seriously as he can, “if something were to go wrong and we had to shoot our way out--” She's laughing again, her magnificent shoulders shaking, and it warms him in spite of himself.

“I'm glad you two understand each other, “Poe says dryly, but Finn doesn't miss the slight relaxation in his tone and posture. “Should we talk numbers?”

They talk numbers, Poe leading as per their agreement and Finn jumping in when Poe needs emphasis or counterpoint. He loves this part, the beats and pauses they expect and offer, the rhythm that they make, uniquely theirs. Imani seems to pick it up and set herself to meet it, swaying deftly through the figures of their dance.

Just when they're closing in on an amount, the comm bank pings and Imani says, “Excuse me. Yes, Antalia.”

Antalia's message is innocuous, something about an increase in cost of carriage, but when Imani closes the connection she explains, “That's the way the old man lets me know he's coming back later than he expected. It doesn't do for a man in his position to signal his movements too widely, except in certain situations when it's the only thing that will do.”

“Imani, he's Lord Mayor for life. He's a public figure, and he loves the spotlight, and there's, what, maybe three people in Cloud City who wouldn't step in front of a blaster bolt for him. I think you do it for fun.”

“Well,” she says, “I wish that were entirely true. Let's say it's good to keep in practice. But this raises the question of what to do while we wait. Do you want to show Finn the sights? I can give you a safe-conduct pass, and a droid guide if you've forgotten your way around.”

“It _has_ been fifteen years,” Poe says, and his tone puts Finn on the alert in an additional way.

The measuring look is back in her eyes. “Sixteen.”

“You can't pretend you've been counting the days. I wasn't that impressive.”

“What you lacked in expertise,” she says, “you made up for in dedication.”

Finn knows their history, and knows too that they haven't met in person since the encounter in question. He sort of wishes Poe would have made it clear that a reprise was on the table, and doesn't feel any particular urge to help him out by offering to go see the sights (whatever they are) or go back to the ship—

\--But his expression suggests to Finn that Poe hadn't really considered this a possibility until just now. “Are you just describing me from the past?” he asks. “Or are you propositioning me in the present? Because if it's the second one, I'm gonna have to confer with my associate.”

“The proposition extends to your associate. Is that really what you call him?”

“Mostly I call him by his name,” Poe says. “Mind if we step out and look at the view?”

“By all means.” She actually waves a hand, as though they can't see where the window is.

The sun has dropped out of sight now, and the air on the balcony is thin, with a chill bite. Tiny lights cross the darkness above and below them. “I really didn't think this would go in this direction,” Poe says, confirming Finn's guess. “I'm not sure what to say.”

“Do you want to?” Finn asks. “She's beautiful.”

“Yeah, she is. And yeah, sort of. But I won't if you don't want me to, and Force knows I don't want you to feel like _you_ have to. Do _you_ want to?”

“Could be fun,” Finn muses. “We've never tried that.”

“That's true, we haven't.” Poe puts an arm around him, sharing warmth. “I want what you want, all the time, whatever it is,” he says in Finn's ear. “That's how it is with me.”

Finn has an annotated list of times that that hasn't been the case, but it's also true that none of those times have been truly important, so he's never felt the need to produce the list. He replays the scent and feeling of Imani's hand against his lips, her calculating expression. “Are we sure this isn't part of the transaction?”

“Pretty sure. I think she'd frame it differently if it was that. But we can ask straight out, if that's a dealbreaker. What I'd really like to know is if she sent some kind of signal to Lando to call and say he's running late, but that we'll probably never find out.”

They grin at each other, faces close. “I love you,” Finn says. “Did you know that?”

“I did, I did know that.” Poe's nose is cold on Finn's cheek, but their lips together are warm. “Let's try it,” Finn says. “I like doing new things with you.”

“I try to keep it interesting.” The warmth of the room when they step back in is almost too much.

“Before you say anything,” Imani says once they've closed the door behind them, “I want to finish our negotiations. I don't want you to think that your yes or your no is part of the deal.” Finn catches Poe's eye. The word _formidable_ passes through his mind, as does the question of whether the balcony is bugged, but he doesn't think it's that. She's just a step ahead of them. It's exciting.

The dance resumes, but Finn finds himself sitting back a bit, chiming in occasionally but mostly watching the two of them sharpen and feint, elaborately defer, close in again. Poe's expression is as intent as when he's fucking or flying: _Would I know this was turning him on if the other thing wasn't part of the picture?_ Finn wonders, and decides that he probably would. He's getting turned on himself just watching them. Has a brief fantasy of taking his cock out and stroking it while they keep talking, and then feels the heat rise up in his face and brings his glass to his lips, forgetting that it's empty.

Suddenly Poe's leaning even further forward, and they're shaking hands, and Imani turns her gaze on Finn. “You've been quiet,” she says. “What do you think of my other proposition?”

“I accept it,” Finn says, his mouth dry, and feeling it's important in this moment to speak only for himself.

“I also _accept_ it,” Poe says, mocking her lightly, and she raises a perfectly honed eyebrow at him. “A little more wine, then,” is all she says, reaching into the cabinet. “Condoms are in here too, if we need them. Or do we need more barriers than that?”

“Not on our account. Standard workup came back clean twenty days or so ago, and we haven't been with anyone but each other since...” He looks a question at Finn, who shrugs. “Long before that,” Poe says. “You can see our med bracelets if you want.”

“Not necessary,” Imani says coolly, looking between them. “I'm up to date as well. Preventative care here is _very_ good, and free to all. Of course you'll tell me if I do anything you don't like, but is there anything I should know beforehand?”

They shake their heads; Finn's a little stunned at her efficiency, and Poe seems amused by it. She smiles, pours the wine, and lifts her glass. “To the process and the outcome.”

They drink. They set their glasses down, and have arrived at the moment where somebody has to do something. Not surprisingly, Imani's the one who stands, crosses to Finn and raises him to his feet.

Her mouth is lush and rich, the taste of the wine lingering, already souring a little. It's true that he hasn't even kissed anyone other than Poe in a while, and he has to remind himself not to compare. He also hasn't been with anyone with breasts in a while, but he likes the softness of hers pressing and shifting against him.

But what he really wants right now, he realizes, is to see Poe touch her, and he gets his wish when Poe steps up and slides his hands around Imani's waist, between the two of them. “You still like this,” he asks, “this spot right here?” and bites her shoulder, which he can just about reach.

Finn steps back to look at them, Poe's hands spread over her collarbone and her belly, the column of her throat stretched back. Poe works kisses along the rest of her shoulder and arm, traces and pinches her nipples through the fabric. It's classic Poe, Finn thinks, to remember what somebody liked sixteen years later, with nothing in between to refresh the memory. He steps in again and kisses her some more, smooths her dress over her thighs, and she grinds up into him, back against Poe, into him.

“There's a knot,” she says, “at the waist, here.” She guides Finn's hand, but he can't unpick the knot and she gets impatient and does it herself, and the gold-orange silk of her dress comes undone and falls around her feet.

She's glorious, curved and folded, shimmering bands of skin striping her belly and thighs. Finn says, “Can I,” and she says, “Of course,” so he gets to his knees, a little awkwardly. She sighs as he kisses his way across, as Poe's fingers dig into her hips. Finn kisses them too, when he gets there, kisses the back of Poe's hand and his wrist, kisses back to the center where a little trail of down leads from her navel into the waistband of her drawers.

“Take them off,” she says in response to his questioning look up, “but take off your shirt first, I want to feel your skin.”

He pulls it over his head, only a second, but when he can see again Poe's hand is right where he had planned to put his mouth, touching lightly, barely moving. “Hey,” he says, making Poe laugh and Imani make a kind of snorting sound of impatience, chasing Poe's touch as he takes his hand away.

Finn pulls her drawers down as smoothly as he can, which isn't very, and she steps out of them and takes a slightly wider stance. He's only done this a couple of times with anyone, so he says, “Tell me what feels right.”

“Oh,” she says, “I will, don't worry.”

He sinks his face into her bush, crouches more to get his lips and tongue to what he knows are the important bits, licks upward. Her hands clamp down on his shoulders, and she rocks against him. She tastes incredible, a little sweaty in a savory way and a little as if metal were delicious. “Up a bit,” she says, “ _yes,_ that's—more, right there.” He's grateful for the guidance and gratified by her response, little gasps and moans that have his dick twitching and shifting. He presses his thighs together and tries sucking where he was licking before. “Too much,” she says, “not yet.”

“What else do you want?” Poe says, a long way above him. “You want him all the way inside?” She jerks and gasps—Poe must have done something, maybe bitten her again, unless it was something Finn did. Inside sounds like a good idea, but he can't get his head at the right angle, and moving to try it makes him realize just how hard he is, and how far away Poe is from him. Usually when Poe says “you,” Finn is who he means.

He rocks back and stands up. She frowns at him from the frame of Poe's arms—he lost his shirt at some point, too. “I want more.”

“I need a kiss or something here,” Finn says. Poe lets go of Imani and pulls him close, and Finn groans and settles into the kiss, not just because it's familiar but because it's Poe, Poe's hand on the back of his neck and Poe murmuring, “You good?”

“Yeah.” He is now, restored, ready for anything.

“That's good,” Poe says out loud. “Tastes good. Imani, can I sub in?”

Her eyes are fixed on them, her features carven, hard to read. “Not just yet,” she says, picking her dress up from the floor, spreading it over the couch, and sitting down with her legs open, a woman in a lake of gold. “I want to look at you together first.”

Poe puts his hands on Finn's waist. “Okay?”

“Okay.” They kiss at first like they're playing a part, too aware of her, but it doesn't take long for everything that he always feels when he's kissing Poe to return to him, for him to use his lips and tongue to say _yes_ without speaking. And after he and Poe are the center of everything for a while, when Poe is lost enough in him to be clumsy undoing his pants, damp-eyed and wholehearted when he fits his mouth around Finn's cockhead and sucks him down, Finn risks a glance over at Imani again. Her eyes are half-lidded and her mouth half-smiling, her thighs trembling visibly, her fingertip busy on her clit.

Finn feels a rush of heat that isn't limited to any one part of his body: he likes that she's looking at them, that it makes her want to touch herself. He grips Poe's hair, lifts his head up and back, a strand of spit connecting them like a fine silver chain. Imani's eyes widen a little and Finn says, “You want us to come over there to you?”

“Yes,” she says. “Sit where I'm sitting,” and she makes way for him. He helps Poe to his feet, kisses him again, leads him over to the couch with a light grip on his wrist. “You want me to sit on this?” he asks, indicating the dress.

“Yes.” He just remembers to take his pants and drawers off first. The silk is warm and damp against the backs of his thighs—from her, of course from her, and he feels himself blushing. Imani reaches into the cabinet, then kneels in front of Finn, takes him in briefly, rolls the condom down where her mouth just was.

Poe's standing to the side, his pants open but still on, like he's not sure what his role should be.

Imani reaches out a hand to him. “Now I want your mouth, your mouth and his cock, can we do that?”

“If you face me, yeah,” Poe says.

She steps over Finn's thighs and lowers herself. She's hot inside and soft and he can feel how wet she is even through the condom, and he grits his teeth. “How's that?” she asks, like someone who knows the answer.

“You feel good,” he says, and bites her in the spot on her shoulder where Poe bit her before. She contracts around him, starts to move, stills herself. “Come here, Poe,” she says softly, “come kneel for me.”

When she starts to move against Poe's mouth it's not to rise but to rock, all her lush body under tight control, wringing her pleasure out of both of them. She comes once, gathering and releasing around Finn's dick in a way that makes him groan while the only sound she makes is a little catch in her throat. He remembers again that her breasts are there and strokes them, picks up on the sound of Poe's mouth on her cunt, slick and lapping, and groans again, and feels her come again. “I don't think--” he says. “Imani, I don't think I can last much more.”

“A little more,” she says. “Please, just a little.”

Poe reaches up with the hand that's not keeping his balance and makes a ring with thumb and forefinger around the base of Finn's cock, squeezes just enough. He raises his head and meets Finn's eyes, and Finn nods: “Okay, man, but--” and then gasps as Imani grinds down on both of them.

“Whatever you want, Finn,” Poe says, his face streaked with Imani's juices, his hair nearly vertical from Imani's grasping hands.

Finn says, “Yeah,” and gets his feet more solidly on the floor so he can thrust upward. Poe's grip moves with him, and for a few minutes it's like it was during the negotiations, the three of them in intricate and complementary motion. They lose the rhythm, gain it back, sustain it, and Imani comes a third time, with a long guttural sigh that shakes her whole body. Poe catches Finn's eye again and takes his hand away, and that's it, Finn's hips snap up and he comes into Imani's last tremors.

She laughs, twists, brings his head forward so she can kiss the top of it. They're both breathing hard, and Poe is sitting back on the floor, grinning at them like he can't help it.

“Now what are we going to do about you,” she says, turning her focus back to Poe. “Just a minute, I'll be right back.” She stands, takes the condom off with one neat motion, and goes through a door that's not the one they came in by. Poe gets up and pulls Finn toward him. “How you doing?” Finn asks.

“Me? I'm great. That was something to see. What about you?”

“This is a lot,” Finn admits.

“You need a rest?”

“No, I wanna help her take you apart.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Imani says, and Finn startles—he had no idea she was back in the room. She sits on Poe's other side, fits herself into the corner of the couch, opens her legs again. “Take your pants off, Poe, and lean back,” she says, hooking a hand under his chin, and though Finn is spent he stirs again at the sight of Poe's head going back. To Finn she says, “Do whatever you'd like.”

Once he's undressed, Poe's waist looks uncomfortably torqued, so Finn moves his feet for him. Now one of Poe's knees is behind Finn and the other is across his lap, and Finn can stretch to lean over him, into him, kiss the line of his neck where Imani's holding it exposed. He works downward, pulling on one nipple with his teeth, tonguing over shrapnel scars. This is nice, actually; it's been a while since they had this kind of time. He has to do an ungainly backwards scoot to get his mouth around Poe's dick, and Imani giggles. But Finn's immune, flicking his tongue and opening his throat, feeling Poe and tasting him while he shifts and sighs in Imani's arms.

Then Imani lift's Finn's face up with a fingertip under his chin—she has to sit up to do it, taking Poe with her. “Let me,” she says, closing the same hand around Poe's cock and using Finn's spit to keep her hand sliding evenly.

“What do you want me to do?” Finn asks, looking Poe in the face so it's clear who he's talking to.

“Anything,” Poe says, arching into Imani's touch. “Anything, seriously.”

“Can you put your knees up a little more?” Finn asks, and lowers his head again, holds Poe's ass open with both hands and licks him and licks him and licks him. When he judges from the sounds Poe's making that he's had about as much as he can take, Finn sits up and presses in with two fingers instead. Poe's eyes are closed, his skin sweat-slick, his throat working; Imani's other hand is fisted in his hair. “Fuck, please,” he says, shoving himself down on Finn's hand, up into Imani's hand, “please,” so beautiful that Finn almost cries.

Poe's eyes open. They look at each other. “Oh fuck,” Poe says again, and comes.

Finn draws his fingers out slowly, and turns his gaze to Imani, who's stroking Poe's softening cock lightly. He expects her to look smug, or at least pleased, but her face looks stern and a little distant in the fraction of a second before she bents her head down to kiss Poe's sweaty curls. When she raises her head, though, she's smiling. “You're both sweet.” 

“Not so sweet anymore,” Poe says, his eyes closed again, relaxing back against her.

“If you say so,” she says.

Finn leaves them on the couch, Imani stroking Poe's hair, while he takes a turn cleaning up. he small fresher off to the side really only holds one at a time. It's sonics—it must be hard to get water all the way up here—and Finn normally prefers that, but right now he wouldn't mind the soothing heat and drum of water. Poe goes in next, and Finn concentrates on putting his clothes back on. He catches his reflection in the window and says out loud, “Oh shit.”

Imani laughs her lovely, rolling laugh. “It's polarized,” she says. “No one can see in. But it's a tribute to me that you didn't think of that until just now.”

She's reclining on the couch, still naked, at total glorious ease. Finn sits in one of the chairs to put his boots back on. She says, “You look out for each other, don't you?”

“Yes,” Finn says.

“That's good. I'm glad.”

He feels shy and strange, out of his depth or at least his element, but once he's fully dressed he gets up again and kneels by the couch and kisses her. It's more for her than for him, but her mouth is warm and gentle, and he tries to meet her there. When they move apart, he kisses her cheek before going back to his seat.

Poe comes out of the fresher with his hair, somehow, in perfect order, naked and jaunty, and kisses Imani's other cheek. “Feeling okay?” he asks her.

“Perfect,” she tells him. “My turn to tidy up, and then I don't know about you, but I'd like some food.” She takes her dress in with her, and comes out with it tied and hanging in long pristine folds.

They take a pneumatic lift to the surprisingly small, gleamingly white kitchen, where Lando Calrissian is sitting at the table, halfway through a plate of something pinkish and something else greenish-gray. At the sight of them, he puts down his spoon and wipes his mustache and draws Poe into a tight hug. “It's good to see you, kid.”

“Good to see you too. This is Finn.”

“Nice to meet you, Finn. Lando. How'd the negotiations go? I got in a little while back, but I didn't want to interrupt.” Is it Finn's imagination, or is there a glint in his eye and a quirk at the corner of his handsome smile?

“A new safe-model gas separator's worth,” Imani says. “We can increase production _and_ shut up the conglomerates who want to bring those deathtraps back online. Hi, boss.”

“Hi, princess.” He turns back to Poe. “Speaking of which.”

“Right,” Poe says, digging into his pocket and pulling out a message capsule. “From her royal highness, herself.”

Lando opens it and holds the contents in his palm to read. His eyebrows rise toward his hairline, and a smile seems to hover again under the mustache, but he says nothing except, “You three want something to eat? The pink stuff's pretty good, I don't know what it is. New kitchen droid. You're not allergic to anything, are you?”

While they eat, he asks about Kes, and Poe asks about Imani's sisters. “The twins are offplanet,” Lando says. “Fact-finding mission.” He doesn't elaborate. “Ugomi's here, but she's got back-to-back tournaments. Any chance you could wait around? You won't recognize her, Poe, she's grown, it even amazes me and I watched her do it. She'd love to see you.” Ugomi, it develops, is a dejarik champion, whose tours provide an excellent cover for reconnaissance and exchanges of information.

“She was just a little butterball running around the last time I saw her,” Poe says. “You'll have to give her my regards, and _not_ tell her I said that. Finn and I have to get back and let the General know what the damage is.”

“Damage, nothing,” Lando says with a snort. “The Calrissian sisters give the best value in the galaxy and Leia knows it. You watch, it'll pay for itself in a few cycles. At least stay the night, though? You must be exhausted.”

They do stay the night, and they are exhausted: in the morning, Finn doesn't even remember getting into bed. He wakes up on the other side of the mattress from Poe, so he rolls over to him and holds him and kisses the back of his neck.

Imani pours fruit juice with the same finesse she used to pour the wine the day before, and tells the story of Islan's and Benay's—the twins'--last mission, which ended in debacle. “They're safe, though,” she finishes, “even though it took Islan days to unpick the camouflage paint from her hair.” Poe counters with a story about two people Finn's never heard of, agents maybe, buying a cargo hold's worth of livestock by mistake, and Imani laughs and laughs. She's warm but not effusive, and she keeps the conversation anecdotal and light; it's almost incredible to Finn that they were all three naked together just a few hours ago.

Lando comes in at the very end of breakfast to say goodbye. “Give 'em hell,” he says to Poe, and to Finn, “You saw my old friend Han before he died, didn't you? I hadn't put that together. You're the one who stole the Falcon!”

“Yeah, the stealing part was more my friend Rey than me, but yeah. And then Han stole it back from us. Which was fine,” he adds quickly.

“How was he? I mean, what was he like?”

“Grumpy,” Finn says. “Kind. Brave.”

“That's Han,” Lando says, looking tired. “That's my partner. I'm glad he got to fly her again.” Imani puts a hand on his shoulder, and Finn all of a sudden likes her very much.

After they're launched and BB-8 does an extra-thorough sweep for bugs and trackers, Poe asks from the pilot's chair, “What are you thinking? Success? Failure? Learning experience?”

“Yeah, I learned that I'm not crazy about it when you talk about me in the third person.”

“Yeah. I realized that was a mistake as soon as it was out. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Finn says, because it is now.

“You're my second person, all the way.”

Finn snorts, but truth is truth, so: “You're mine too,” he says, bumping Poe's shoulder with his hip, and staying put so Poe can get an arm around his waist and kiss his side and take them into hyperspace with his other hand.

 


End file.
